The Weight of the World: Epilogue to 'The 36th Man'
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: I enjoyed listening to the CBS Radio Mystery Theater drama 'The 36th Man' starring Ross Martin — but the ending, not so much. Harry Cohen should have had an unambiguously happy ending! And so I wrote this one-shot to lift that final weight off his shoulders.


_Author's note: A lady I've met online who is an even more ardent fan of Ross Martin than I am (Yes, that's possible!) runs a website called Ross-Martin-Remembered (dot com). Among the memorabilia she's placed on display there — photos, magazine and newspaper articles, playbills, and sooooo much more! — are links to various radio programs Ross acted in. _

_And among these radio shows I found a link to 'The 36__th__ Man.' In it Ross plays Harry Cohen, a sweet generous soul in the early 1900's who finds he's been chosen to be one of the Lahmed Vovniks (your spelling may vary), the thirty-six people in each generation whose saintly lives hold back the destruction of the world. Harry doesn't quite believe this, but from then on, every time he's tempted to stray into evil, a raging storm blows in, ready to eradicate this sinful world, and it's only because Harry turns back from sin that the storm dissipates again._

_The story ends with Harry getting his heart's desire: his disapproving wife Ruth finally begins to understand him. But with the fulfillment of that wish which he had shared with the old man who passed the mantle of the lamedh-vovniks on to him, comes the realization that he, Harry Cohen, now has the responsibility to keep the world from ending! As Ruth tells him in the final moments of the drama, Harry now looks like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders._

_This ending didn't satisfy me. Poor Harry! He gets his heart's desire, and instead of being able to enjoy it, he's immediately weighed down by the knowledge that if he sins, everybody dies! So… I figured I'd write him an epilogue to help him work through this and get back to being the carefree soul he was at the start._

_Nydiva, this one's for you!_

**The Weight of the World:  
>Epilogue to 'The 36<strong>**th**** Man'**

Harry Cohen sat behind the counter of his candy store and turned the page of his philosophy book. Then he sighed and flipped the page back again. Again! Again he'd lost the thread of what he'd been reading, of what the author had been trying to say. His eyes darted over the page, searching for the last sentence he could remember from before the point when his thoughts had strayed.

And then he slammed the book shut and tossed it aside. Oh, it was just no good! Everything he did anymore, everything he'd once enjoyed, it was all like ashes in his mouth. Everything in his life — every blessed thing — was overshadowed by the ever-present thought of "It's all on me now. I can't mess up! At any moment I could do something wrong and _Bam! _That's it! End of the world! Everyone's depending on me — the whole world is! — on me, Harry Cohen, a man who used to be a nobody. A man who still _is _a nobody, really, but a man whose next misstep is the last — for everyone!"

Harry's head sank into his hands, and his shoulders bowed and shook. If only he'd given this more thought before he'd agreed to become one of the lamedvovniks! But the old man had been dying and hadn't given Harry much time to think. And anyway, would it have made that much difference if Harry _had _been given more time? He hadn't really believed the old man one way or the other; he'd only said "Yes" to humor the poor old soul, to try to calm him down from the tizzy he'd been working himself into. And the storm, the storm! A storm had been raging outside the store, the fiercest Harry had ever seen, and the old man had been insistent that _that storm _would destroy the world since he was dying and had no one to take his place. No one, that is, except for Harry, but Harry had to accept first, and quickly, before the old man died and left only thirty-_five _saintly people to hold back the destruction of the world!

And so Harry, good ol' Harry, give-'em-the-shirt-off-his-back Harry — Harry had told the frantic old man "Yes." And instantly the storm had disappeared as if it had never been. Instantly! "What have I done?" Harry had wondered. And yet — yes, even then he hadn't quite believed. Not quite.

It was only later, after the storm had reappeared again and again, each time as Harry was about to do something he would regret — including, he blushed to recall, cheat on his wife. Funny how that woman had shown up, all sweet innocence, a recent widow with four kids, a woman who, unlike Harry's wife Ruth, appreciated a man of philosophy! When Harry had tried to read a particularly thoughtful passage from his book to Ruth, she had spurned him. And what had he gone and done? He'd headed off to visit the widow, bringing with him a gift of a bottle of milk for her children and his paragraph from the philosophy book for her, a paragraph about Truth. How was he to know that the widow would turn the passage on its head, would take the word _Truth _and try to make it into a pretext for him to kiss her — yes, and no doubt do far far more?

And the storm had been raging outside, even as another storm raged within Harry that day. Suddenly his eyes were opened and he saw his danger — saw it and ran!

And immediately the storm had stopped. Just as instantly as it had disappeared when he told the old man "Yes," so it had vanished when he told the young widow "No!" and bolted from her. And yet…

And yet the widow had not been the only woman to abruptly appear in his life right after he'd agreed to become the thirty-sixth man. There had been that other woman, the, er, fallen woman. She had come into his store here, stood right there on the other side of the counter and tried to, well… to interest Harry in her, uh, wares. But such a woman as that held no fascination for Harry; he'd thought of her only as a poor straying lamb. He'd offered to help her, to give her the last money in his pocket so she could buy herself proper decent clothing so she could go over to the factory to ask for proper decent work. And in that case it had been she who fled from him!

But now, thinking back, Harry's brows knit. The fallen woman and the widow: could they have been… the same woman? The one had called herself Lily, and the other… no, he didn't remember a name. But…

He rubbed at his mouth, thinking. Lily… short… short for _Lilith_, perhaps? Lilith, who had scorned to be the wife of Adam and wound up as a demon instead?

Abruptly he shook his head and gave a shaky laugh. "Ruth's right; such an imagination I have! Of all things, Lilith the demon coming after a nobody like me!" Again he laughed, then took up his book of philosophy once more and flipped through it, looking for his place. Just as he found the spot, yet another thought hit him. "Funny thing though: that widow — she told me she had four kids, but I never saw a one of them. Huh…"

He was still sitting there, frowning, mulling it all over, when the shop bell at the door jingled, dragging him from his reverie. He looked up to see who was entering.

"Oh, hey!" A smile lit Harry's face as a ragtag group of perhaps a dozen boys and girls shuffled inside. "Well, hello there, kids! Good afternoon! My, is it that late already? School's over for the day?" He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall.

"Afternoon, Mr Cohen!" said the spokesman of the group, a tall gangly kid whose wrists stuck out beyond the cuffs of his well-worn jacket by a good inch or two. The boy dragged off his cap, and the other boys with him instantly did the same. "We was wondering, Mr Cohen — if Miz Cohen don't mind, y'know — can we, uh, read the funny papers? Please?"

"It's 'we _were _wondering,' Danny," Harry corrected. "And you mean '_may _we,' not 'can we.' Right?"

"Oh. Oh, yes sir, right! May we read the funnies, sir?"

"We got in the afternoon papers about an hour ago, kids," Harry responded, nodding toward a bundle stacked just inside the door. "And you're right, Mrs Cohen doesn't like it when I permit you to read the funnies in the papers." With an apologetic shrug, he added gently, "Well, you do tend to tear the pages, you know, and also the ink gets onto your fingers and then smears off onto the other pages, and who's going to want to buy a paper someone else has already been pawing through, hmm?"

Guiltily, Danny and the others nodded. "Yes sir, Mr Cohen. Sorry to have bothered you. We'll, uh, we'll be going then…"

"Which is why," Harry said quickly before the kids could leave, "I set aside _this _paper for you." He reached under the counter and pulled out a thickly folded sheaf. "Aw, I figured I'll read it myself later, and, well…" He gave a shrug. "I don't mind so much a few ink smudges. Rips either, as long as none of the words are missing! Do you suppose you can be careful with my own paper, so I can read it through tonight after supper?"

"Oh! Oh, yes sir! Certainly, sir!" Eagerly Danny stepped forward and accepted the virgin paper as if it were the scrolls of the Torah. "We'll take great care of it, Mr Cohen; you'll see!"

"Fine, fine," said Harry. "Now, tell you what: since you'll all have to share the one paper, why don't you all take turns reading each of the funnies aloud to the others so you can all enjoy them, and see if you can come up with good voices for each of the characters, hmm? But, uh, take it outside to read it, since I haven't read the funnies myself yet, and I'd like to be surprised later. Ok?"

"Sure, Mr Cohen!" said Danny, and the others chimed in with "Thank you, Mr Cohen! Thanks a lot!"

"Aw, it's nothing," said Harry, pleased. "Oh, and here: each of you have a candy. But, uh…" Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added, "Don't let Mrs Cohen know." He pressed a finger to his lips as he doled out the two-a-penny candies, one to each child — and then, with a furtive glance around, a second candy to each child as well.

"Thanks, Mr Cohen!" the kids chorused as they hurried out front with their candies and the paper.

Soon Harry could hear muffled voices as the kids threw themselves into the jolly job of reading the funnies aloud. He gave a tired smile and opened his book again. "Well," he murmured to himself, "at least I can still make the kids happy without calling a storm down onto my head!"

"What's that, Mr Cohen?" came a soft voice.

Harry jumped and stared all around. Why, here was one of the kids still inside the store with him! One of the girls, her dress plain and faded — and if he knew the girl's family, handed down to her from her three older sisters.

"Why, Esther, I didn't know you were still here! Why didn't you go outside with your friends?"

"I…" She gave a shrug and twisted her fingers together. "I just… Well, I wanted to talk to you, Mr Cohen."

"Talk? To me?" He took a closer look, read the embarrassment on her face, and came out from behind the counter. "What's the matter, Esther? Are your parents all right? Your sisters?"

Mutely she nodded.

"Oh, that's good, that's good. And your papa's job? He hasn't lost that, has he? You know, I could maybe give him a couple of hours a week here in the candy store, except we really don't do that much business — and Mrs Cohen would have a fit," he added, mostly to himself. "But if there's something I can do to help out, you know I'd be glad to…"

"No no no, Mr Cohen!" the girl interrupted hastily. "It's nothing like that! Papa still has his job. And it's not about money. It's, well…" The girl stopped talking abruptly.

"Well? Well what, Esther? How can I help you?"

"Well… it's more like how can I help _you?" _she said. "You…" Again she looked embarrassed. "Well… you've been different lately, Mr Cohen. You used to be so happy! All right, maybe not exactly _happy_, but… you know. You liked your life. _Everyone _could tell that! Only lately it's more like… Well, you look like you've got such a burden! Like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Ah…" For a moment Harry found himself at a complete loss for words. Ruth had said the very same thing to him, that night when he'd given up. The night when the doctor had convinced him that this business about the lamedh-vavniks was all a figment of his imagination, that Harry had made it up to make himself feel better for failing Ruth, for being such a bad business man, for being such a soft touch, for making no money and giving away what little he did make to anyone with a half-way decent sob story. The night that Harry had decided to become what Ruth plainly wanted him to be: a hard-nosed cheat of a business man just like her brother Jacob. But he wouldn't just be _like _Jacob! Oh no, he would _outdo _Jacob, would make Jacob look like the failure in comparison! Did Jacob rook his costumers? Harry would take the food from their very mouths! Did Jacob cast out his tenants if they missed a rent payment? Harry would not only throw them out, but confiscate all their furniture and all their clothes as well! Did Ruth want money? Harry would provide it — yes, he would, and the monster storm raging over their heads at that very moment was all a lie: this wasn't the end of the world! It was simply the end of Harry the Schlemiel!

And yet even as Harry had raged and stormed, vowing to become what he thought Ruth wanted him to be, Ruth had thrown her arms around his neck, begging with him, yes, _pleading _with him not to do it! Not to… not to change. Not to stop being Harry, _her _Harry, Harry the sweet, Harry the charitable, Harry the kind, yes, even munificent! The Harry she'd fallen in love with, the man she loved and had nearly forgotten that she loved. Ruth had cried that night, mourning over how she was about to lose him — and Harry had melted. No, no, he wouldn't change; he'd stay the same, he would remain the same man she'd married. Of course he would!

And the storm had vanished. Not just vanished, but it had never returned since! But even as Ruth had smiled at him through her tears that night, she had shaken her head and sent him off to bed. He looked so tired, she told him, so worn out, as if the weight of the world had just landed on his shoulders.

And it had! In that moment, for the first moment since the old man had set foot in the candy store to beg Harry to replace him as the thirty-sixth man, Harry knew now what he had done. He knew! The weight of the world _was _on his shoulders! It was his responsibility to lead a perfect, a stainless life, to go and sin no more, to be a paragon of virtue, all to keep the world from being destroyed. And what a weight it was! Why, there were moments when he was even afraid to breathe!

But until just now, he hadn't realized how obvious the strain had become. Yes, _Ruth _saw, of course she did. But she was _Ruth_, she was his wife. He couldn't hide anything from Ruth! But now even this little teenaged neighbor girl from down the street could see how he was weighed down under the burden.

Harry sighed. "That obvious, huh?"

Esther nodded. "Yes sir. And then there's what you just said, about making us kids happy without calling a storm down onto your head?"

"Oh. You, uh, heard that, did you?"

"Uh-huh. Is everything all right, Mr Cohen? You seem so worried. You were never worried before!"

He snorted. "I was never one of the lamedvavniks before," he muttered.

"A llama what?" the girl asked innocently.

Oh, she'd heard that too? Again Harry sighed, then seated himself behind the counter once more. Well, what would it hurt to tell someone, right? And for that matter, if it _was _against the rules to talk about it, well, that pesky storm would brew up over his head, wouldn't it, and then he'd know to shut up!

"Lamedhvavniks," said Harry. "It comes from the two Hebrew letters of lamedh and vav. In Hebrew, maybe you know, the letters can also stand for numbers. Lamedh stands for the number thirty, and vav for the number six."

"So together lamedh and vav mean thirty-six?" She grinned. "That makes sense. But what about the -nik part?"

"Oh, that means someone who does a thing. It's more or less the same as putting an -er at the end of a verb in English, you see. So the lamed-vovniks are…" He gestured towards her, and Esther finished with, "The thirty-sixers. I see. But what are thirty-sixers?"

Patiently Harry took her through the ancient Jewish belief that in each generation there were thirty-six righteous persons alive, and it was because of their saintly ways that the world was not annihilated in retribution for the wickedness of the rest of humanity.

"You mean like when the L-rd was going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, but Father Abraham begged Him not to, if only there were ten righteous men within those cities?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, exactly! Except, of course, that there weren't even ten righteous in those wicked towns, and the L-rd utterly destroyed them."

"Whew!" Young Esther gave a soft whistle. "And that's why you've been upset lately? Worried that you'll mess up and we'll all be wiped out like Sodom and Gomorrah of old, and like the ancient world before that, from back when Noah made the Ark?"

Harry's eyebrows climbed. "Well, you certainly know your Scriptures, young lady!"

She grinned shyly. "I like to read. And what better things to read than Scripture, right?"

Harry didn't answer, but quietly he moved the philosophy book out of the girl's line of sight. Still, he reasoned, he'd never known a storm to break out over his head for his choice of reading materials!

"So…" She propped her elbows onto the countertop and folded her hands. "You became one of the lamedhvovniks, a thirty-sixer, and now it's got you all worried. But what did the other lamed-vavnik tell you when he asked you to take his place?"

"Well…" Harry gave a shrug, thinking. "He… he just asked me to stay the same, to stay just like I was." The same as Ruth had wanted of him, come to think of it!

"But you didn't, did you?" the girl went on.

Harry's mouth fell open; he certainly wasn't about to tell this sweet young thing about the incident with the widow, nor about his abortive plans to outshine his brother-in-law at hardheartedness!

But the girl raised a hand and waved it at him, as if waving those thoughts out of his head. "No no no, I don't mean that you fell into any sin. We wouldn't still be here if you had! No, I mean… before you didn't worry, and now you do."

"Well, yes, of course I worry! I almost did mess up a few times, and each time a huge storm broke out, ready to wipe out humanity because of my sin! Who _wouldn't _worry, with such a responsibility hanging over his head?"

"The old man didn't, did he? He had confidence in you, or he wouldn't have sought you out to beg you to take over such an important job, right? He just wanted you to stay like you were. Why? Why did he want you to stay the same?"

"Because… Because the man I was right then was the exact sort of man who could do the job?"

Esther smiled. "That's what I think. A man who didn't worry about anything. Why? Why didn't you worry?"

"Well, because what good does it do? What does worry do but borrow trouble from tomorrow and wear you out today? Especially since most of the things you worry about never even happen, but because you worried about them, you're just as frazzled as if…" He stopped and winced. "As if they did," he finished lamely.

"Mm-hmm," said the girl. "You didn't worry before because you knew you didn't _have _to worry, that it didn't help you one bit and even hurt you instead." She tipped her head to one side and smiled up at him. "So why worry now?"

Harry chuckled. "_That _is an excellent question, kiddo! Well, let's see… I guess I didn't worry before because I figured, hey, as long as I was doing the right sort of things that I knew I should be doing — that I was helping out everyone I was able to help, and was kind to everyone, not envious, not hating anyone…"

"In other words, keeping the Law by keeping your heart right."

"Yes, keeping the Law the L-rd gave to Moses. I figured if my heart was right towards my fellow man, then the L-rd would take care of me. And He has! He always has! Even when there wasn't a dime left in the till here in the store, Mrs Cohen and I, we've never starved! And there's always been a way to help out someone who really needed help!"

"Always," the girl repeated. "Every single time, right?"

"Yes! Yes, every single time!" A light that was nearly angelic broke upon Harry's face. "That's it, that's it, that's exactly right! I never worried before — and I don't need to now! I always trusted the L-rd before, and I'll trust Him now too!"

Esther grinned and pushed away from the counter. "Sounds great!" she said as she headed for the door, then paused and added, "After all, He's trusting you."

"He is, isn't He?" said Harry soberly. "I… Thank you, Esther. I needed to hear these things, and I'm glad you came and said them."

"Oh, that's all right." The girl shrugged modestly. "I just didn't like to see you so unhappy, that's all." She reached for the door knob to leave the store.

"Well, you really helped me out, young lady. You know," he added, a twinkle in his eye, "I'll have to keep in touch with you. After all, when it's my time to go, I'm going to need to find myself a replacement; I plan to keep you in mind!"

Her jaw dropped, and a hint of tears sprang up into her eyes. "Why… why, that's really kind of you, Mr Cohen," she said. "I appreciate that. I really do. There's just one problem."

"Oh? What's that?"

"You, um… Well, you weren't the first person to think of me for a replacement." And exceedingly quietly, with a glance around to be sure no other ears heard her, she added, "And I already said 'Yes.' "

With that the girl slipped out the door, leaving Harry Cohen gaping after her. "Why — why, that little angel! So _that's _how she knew so much about what I'm going through! I…" He gave a little laugh and glanced upwards. "And I got it right, didn't I? She _was _an angel, a messenger from the L-rd! After all, I needed to hear those things, and she came and told them to me. Hmm.." he added thoughtfully. "I guess if I ever notice a storm brewing in the neighborhood and I'm not in a fix myself, I'll know who to be praying for."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" The door that led into the back of the candy store opened and a middle-aged woman in a plain cloth coat stepped through.

"Hmm? Oh, Ruth! There you are. Let me help you with your coat. Did you go somewhere? I… I'm sorry; I didn't notice."

"Yes, yes, in fact I did. And I… Oh! There are those children again, sitting out on the front stoop of our store, blocking the doorway and reading… Is that one of our newspapers?" She spun to glare at him.

"Well, yes, Ruth, it _is _one of our papers," Harry admitted as he hung up his wife's coat. "But only one of them! The one I was going to read myself later on. I figured, you know, at least it won't be one of the ones we were hoping to sell, and so…" His voice trailed off.

"I see. And candy? Are you still insisting on giving them free candy?"

"Only the two-a-penny candies, Ruth! I mean, look at those kids! They're so pale, so thin. A little charity cheers them up so! And it's only the two-a-penny candies. I know how it upsets you for me to, uh, to hand out the more expensive ones."

"Hmph. As if two-a-penny candies don't add up to real money in a hurry, Harry! Oh, you're so _wasteful! _You're always…!"

Abruptly Ruth snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. "No, no, you're so _generous_. You're the man I fell in love with, and I need to stop nagging you for being yourself. After all, I've seen the man you could be if you put your mind to it, and _him _I don't like at all!" Ruth shuddered, remembering the sight and sound of her Harry growling out how after all his years of giving, giving, giving, now he was going to take, take, take! "I love you, Harry," she declared positively. "And that means loving the way you are _all _the time, even when it inconveniences me — and I apologize that I keep having to remind myself not to find fault with you." She gave a watery smile and kissed her husband's check.

"Oh, it's all right, Ruth. I know I'm not perfect, and that I get on your nerves all too often. But I'm trying to do better; I really am!"

"Yes, I see. Only one newspaper, instead of half the stack! That _is _a major improvement! Oh, but, Harry! Come and sit down!" And now she turned to him and led him to his seat behind the counter. "I have such news for you! I went today and saw the doctor, and…"

"The doctor!" Harry leapt from the chair and pressed Ruth into it instead. "Are you all right? Should you be on your feet? I… I noticed you've been feeling a little sick now and again lately, but I figured if it got bad enough, you'd say something to me." He took her hand and knelt by her side. "Is… _is _it bad, Ruth? What did the doctor say? Whatever it is, we'll get through it together, side by side, you'll see! However bad it is…"

"Harry, Harry! If you'll just hush for a minute, I'll be able to get a word in edgewise and tell you what's going on! It's… Well, you're right that I've been feeling a little sick now and then. But mostly, Harry — now listen! Mostly I've been getting sick in the _mornings! _Do you see?" She looked into his eyes, nodding at him, willing him to understand the huge hint she'd just given him.

"Mornings! Oh, mornings, Ruth, that's such a bad time for you to feel sick! I know how you like to rise up early and get right into your day, so for you to feel sick in the mornings must be… Oh, but the doctor! What did he say?"

Ruth shook her head at him in fond exasperation that he'd completely missed her clue. "Oh, the doctor! First he called me Sarah, and then he proclaimed 'Mazel tov' over me, if you can believe it!"

Harry's brows knit. "Mazel tov? You're sick, and he says 'Mazel tov'? Why would he do that? And why call you Sarah? He knows your name is Ruth!"

"Because I'm not _sick_, Harry! I'm… I'm… Oh, Harry, this is a sentence I never thought I'd ever get to say, not after all these years married, and never any… Oh, but, Harry, Harry! Can you believe it? We're going to be _parents!"_

The look on Harry's face was priceless. "Par… parents? Parents?" Slowly he rose to his feet, one hand over his mouth, his eyes as big as saucers. "Parents, Ruth? Are you sure? Us?"

"Yes, yes, us, Harry! We're going to have a baby! That's why the doctor called me Sarah! He was joking, of course, but… Oh, Harry! After all these years! Well, I thought surely that time of life was well behind me, you know. I thought there was something else — who knows what! — going on with me to make me feel so sick every morning. But a baby! Harry, isn't it wonderful?"

"A baby! My Ruth, going to be a mother! Oh, how _marvelous!" _Harry caught her up into his arms and hugged her joyfully. "Oh, but… We need to be careful! Here, sit, sit. Sit and rest." Solicitously he helped her back into the chair again, then brought her a footstool as well. "Ah…"

"Something wrong, Harry?"

"No, no. I just… I, ah… thought you always said it was just as well you weren't a mother," he explained slowly. "You were sure you'd make a bad one."

"Oh, that!" She sniffed. "Well, you know me! If things aren't going my way, I can always open my mouth and make it worse. When time passed and nothing happened, I started trying to convince myself that it didn't matter, that I'd be a rotten mother, so that seeing everyone else all around us having baby after baby wouldn't… wouldn't hurt so bad." She glanced up at him, then ducked her head. "But that wasn't all of it. I knew _you _wanted children, but you seemed to be fine with the fact that we didn't have any. But then, that's how you are: if you can't have a thing, you figure it's the L-rd's will, and you make peace with it. Somehow, you always find your way to a place of, of being _content_." She all but spat out the word. "You could be content, and I couldn't, and it made me mad, so I… Oh, Harry! I started saying awful things about what a bad mother I'd be, so that…" Abruptly she broke off and started crying.

Harry slid his arms around her. "So that what, Ruth?"

"So that… Oh, so that maybe you'd feel… I don't know… _guilty _about not being angry."

"Oh, Ruth!" His voice was soft, gentle, almost patronizing. "Surely you couldn't have felt like _that!"_

She drew back and looked at him. "Oh, that's you all over, Harry! I tell you straight out, and you still can't believe it! Because you don't even think that way. It isn't part of you to try to… manipulate anyone, or make them feel guilty, or… or _anything _like that! Sometimes I think you're too good to be real!" And as he blinked at her, still not comprehending, she sighed and laid a hand on his cheek. "And sometimes I think I'm too lucky for words, getting to be married to a man like you, Harry." She smiled and kissed him, then rested his hand on her tummy and laid her hand over his. "So. What are we going to call our baby, hmm, Abraham?"

"A… Abraham?" Instantly Harry's mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had earlier with the neighbor girl. Twice in one day, for someone to bring up Father Abraham! "Is that what you'd like to call our son, Ruth?"

She chuckled. "No, silly! I was calling _you _Abraham! After all, the doctor called me Sarah. We aren't quite as old as they were when their son Isaac was born, but mark my words, some of our neighbors will be calling us by those names for years to come, you know!"

"Oh, they will, will they? Well then, let 'em!" Harry grinned. "In fact — even better! — if anyone doesn't make the connection, we'll make it for them!"

"Harry?" Ruth frowned up at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I have the perfect name for our son! We'll call him Isaac!"

Ruth paused, tipping her head as if trying out the name. "Isaac? You're sure?"

"Well, of course! It means 'laughter,' doesn't it? What better thing to call him, since we'll be laughing with joy over the birth of our firstborn! Un… unless… Well, if you don't like the name, we can pick another."

"No no, Isaac sounds lovely, Harry, absolutely lovely. It's just… what if we have a girl instead?"

"Oh!" He didn't hesitate a second. "Not a problem. I have the perfect name in mind for a girl already too!"

"Not… Isaaca, I hope? Or some other way of turning Isaac into a girl's name? It just doesn't quite sound right, you know."

"No no no," he reassured his wife. "No, nothing like that. A _real _girl's name, not a boy's name turned into one for a girl. No, I'm thinking…" He smiled at her, touching her cheek gently. "…I'm thinking of a name that fits like a hand in a glove with _your _name, Ruth. A name to bring into our lives the sweetness I've always hoped to bless you with."

"Oh! You mean…"

"Mm-hmm! What other name goes so well with Ruth but Naomi? 'My sweetness' — isn't that perfect?"

"Oh, Harry!" Ruth felt her eyes going all misty. "Yes. Yes, it is. It's exactly perfect." Just like you, she added silently, and drew her husband into a glad embrace.

**FIN**


End file.
